


Humming, Softly Breathing Out (Your Name)

by bewaare



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alien Planet, Blood and Gore, Enterprise, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Major Character Injury, Psychological Torture, Religious Content, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewaare/pseuds/bewaare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years into the five year mission to explore previously uncharted space, the Starfleet flagship Enterprise stumbles upon a new planet with interesting architecture and, as they will discover, a terrible past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humming, Softly Breathing Out (Your Name)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from La Dispute's "Nobody, Not Even the Rain"
> 
> and I have no idea where I'm going with this except that it will end with romance, tears, and a dead villain.

Space, the final frontier and the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ , whose sole mission was to explore its depths and boldly go where none had gone before. Just thinking about it makes its displaced captain’s chest squeeze as he clambers up what he considers a small mountain, upon which his first officer is already perched carefully with binoculars in hand. It’s times like these, when they’re staring doom, destruction, and certain death in the face that James T. Kirk can’t help but feel a swell of gratitude and something else, something he never allows himself to fully formulate, for his commander and friend. Letting out a heavy sigh, Jim collapses next to Spock gracelessly. To his credit, the Vulcan barely glances at him. His eyes are fixed on the distant horizon, face blank, and Jim realizes that there’s something out there that only Spock and can sense—something psychic and powerful and, worse, unknown to them.

Despite the multitude of questions bubbling up on the back of his tongue, Jim waits until he can see the life startle back into Spock’s eyes and the Vulcan finally turns to examine his captain. When he straightens, Jim asks, “What’s out there, Spock?”

Chest constricting, nostrils flaring delicately, the Vulcan is strangely silent as he stares down at his captain with a clear battle waging in his eyes, which breaks when Jim’s eyebrows draw together and he half reaches out to his first officer in concern. Even though the captain’s fingers haven’t made contact, Spock can feel his worry radiating out from him. Unusually expressive, even for a human, Jim is the kind of Human that most Vulcans pray they never meet because even though the captain isn’t aware of it, he’s an empath. It’s one of the reasons that Spock has never been able to hide his thoughts or intentions from the man for long. It makes him dangerous.

“Captain,” Spock murmurs and settles next to the man atop the rock formation.

All wind-tossed blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes that catch the fading light and reflect it back ten-fold, Jim smiles at his first officer despite his evident weariness and taps his comm to inform his chief of engineering that they will, against the better judgment of the ship’s chief medical officer, be staying on the planet overnight to get a better feel for the climate. As with most of Jim’s decisions, Spock can’t help but suspect there’s an ulterior motive. When Mr. Montgomery Scott answers with disgruntled and somewhat broken English and his, sometimes unbearably thick, Scottish accident to confirm, Jim winks at Spock. Clapping his hands together, Jim asks, “So, Mr. Spock, when was the last time you went camping?”

Spock frowns at the mirth that dances in his captain’s eyes and says, carefully, “I am not sure what qualifies.”

Smile twitching, Jim asks, “Camping? You know, roughing it? Tents? Fires? S’mores?”

With each word Spock’s predetermined understanding continues to decline steadily, flat lining at the very last which he thinks distantly is a Human treat, sometimes considered a delicacy by the young—or certain, forever young captains.

“Seriously?” Jim throws his hands up in despair and exclaims, “You’ve been missing out man, oh well,” he shrugs and grins again, “guess we’ll just have to change that, won’t we?”

Resisting the urge to quip about his feelings about illogical rhetorical questions, Spock watches his captain spring to his feet and scramble down the rock-face and back towards where their gear is gathered, crowing triumphantly after a moment of rifling through a larger bag. One eyebrow quirking reflexively, Spock follows his companion at a much slower pace. By the time he has delicately picked his way down to ground level, Jim is already hard at work setting up a curious structure composed of flexible metal poles and a lightweight cloth material. As Jim struggles with the structure’s skeleton, Spock examines the cloth’s tag. It is fireproof, waterproof, strong enough to resist most types of shrapnel, and insulated enough to repel the gathering chill. Spock’s eyebrow quirks again as he thinks, _fascinating._

With one last vicious exclamation of profanity, Jim steps back from the structure and turns to find Spock already holding the exterior he needs. Grinning, the captain gestures for it. He begins to unfold the cloth before his first officer has finished handing it over, and he jerks his head to his right, and Spock makes the logical conclusion that Jim is asking for his assistance as the only relevant place to his captain’s right is the opposite side of the structure. Together they work in a comfortable silence.

“You never did answer my question, you know,” Jim remarks casually as he ties down the last few straps and fixes his first officer with an easy, curious gaze and as he finishes the last knot, he straightens and dusts his hands off.

Attempting to swallow the lump in his throat, Spock inquires, “Which question, captain?” to stall.

Eyes narrowing, Jim looks at the Vulcan. “Don’t give me that, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Indeed, Spock did know exactly which question Jim was referring to, and let out a tiny exhalation that most Vulcans would consider a moderately sized sigh. Bending to rearrange the crude stack of sticks and other flammable materials that his captain had arranged, Spock thinks about how to best answer the question as his hands move quickly.

“What’re you doing?” Jim asks as he comes to stand next to his first officer. He’s close enough to lean on or touch, should Spock only reach out, and the very thought makes his spine straighten to sudden rigidness at his captain’s nearness. To his frustration his heart picks up.

“Optimizing,” he responds mildly despite his traitorous body.

Jim throws his hands up again and shakes his head at his companion, but the motion is entirely affectionate and he can’t hide the small grin that finds its way onto his face. Spock, although he cannot see his captain, senses it. Jim is still only inches away and his rueful fondness for his first officer is overwhelming as it spills over from him in sloppy waves of contentment, and Spock stares at the arrangement he’s made, momentarily frozen as he considers his next step. His captain startles him by kneeling next to him and retrieving a lighter. Stuffing several strips of what appears to be bark beneath the careful arrangement of kindle, Jim leans down and snaps the lighter’s lid off and ignites the bark in a fierce, bright burst.

“Damn,” Jim says as he rocks back onto his heels, “I love Zippos.”

Spock, who is mostly unfamiliar with the word, frowns at his companion. Jim, unrepentant, just grins wider. He stretches out his arms to encompass the whole of what they have assembled together and announces, with no small amount of satisfaction and delight, “Camping.”

It earns him another downward tug from his first officer’s mouth.

“And,” Jim continues, exasperation creeping into his tone, “you _still_ haven’t answered my question. What was poking around back there?”

Struggling to relax and remain expressionless, Spock gently settles on the ground and crosses his legs and raises his hands to spread his fingers near the flames. The sticks have caught and Spock’s proximity is allowing him to soak up the warmth. Despite his three layers of shirts and two layers of pants, the Vulcan’s exposed digits and face are prey to the falling temperature and the fire is a welcome change. Letting out a longer exhale, one considered a rather shamefully expressive sigh, Spock clenches his fingers into fists. “I am not sure, captain. I touched minds with a consciousness briefly, but I do not know from where it came or to where it has gone. It is, I think, on this planet, but that is the extent of any conclusions I may draw.”

Thoughtfully, Jim asks, “How can you be sure it’s on the planet?”

He’s merely curious, Spock knows, and he’s never been one to turn down the education of those less informed (not that he considers Jim ill-informed, as the man has consistently proven to be anything but). “The range of my ability to connect with the minds of others is limited, even if that mind is broadcasting, therefore, logically, one must assume that this consciousness is within range and, given that planet’s size exceeds that range, the consciousness must be on the planet.”

Jims’ eyebrows rise steadily as Spock explains and then he lets out a long exhale, clearly impressed, and casts a cursory glance around their campsite. It is more of a curious motion than a paranoid one. “This is a pretty planet.” he murmurs, “It’s nice here.”

If he isn’t mistaken—which he rarely is—Spock detects a hint of melancholy, or perhaps bitterness in his captain’s voice and looks at him sharply in surprise, taking in the weary slump of Jim’s shoulders and the ragged lines in his face. Space travel is difficult on everyone, even those who have nothing else they would rather do. Jim loves space, he loves the _Enterprise_ with his whole being, but he’d be a liar if he ever said it wasn’t the damn hardest job he’d ever tried to do with something other than minimal success. The crew is almost as lively and unruly as their captain and as the flagship, their missions can be draining. Spock’s lips thin as he remembers their last mission. It nearly claimed the lives of several important crew members, Jim included.

“Perhaps it might suit us to retire soon,” Spock tells his captain carefully, quietly, “it is only logical after all. We must rise early tomorrow.” The pretense of logic is merely a farce and they both know it.

Jim’s lips quirk, “Was that concern I heard there Mr. Spock?”

“It is only logical,” the first officer responds stubbornly.

Jim’s head falls back and his shoulders shake with the fullness of his laughter and Spock, for all of his fronts and determination to remain pure to the Vulcan side of his nature, revels in the sound and lets it soothe him. As long as his captain is alive and merry, he thinks, he will be content to continue on like this forever. A quiet part of him mumbles that it is quite illogical to wish something, but the stronger, more prominent Human squashes the dissent carefully, like it is nothing more than a bug. Jim’s bones creak a little as he rises to his feet wearily and offers a hand down to Spock. Whether or not it’s needed, he takes it and feels the warmth of his captain’s affection and the sluggishness of his sleep-deprived mind through the brief contact.

They enter the tent and strip in silence, each relishing in the warmth of their individual sleeping bags. Spock’s delicate Vulcan physiology perhaps a bit more than his captain’s.

“We’ll explore the rest of the jungle tomorrow,” Jim says through a yawn which Spock, through his years of knowing him, has somehow come to understand, “and then I guess that’ll be it. We’ve placed markers in a few structures, but that’s less for us and more for our archeological teams to drool over.”

Spock can’t help the corner of his mouth quirking a bit as he agrees with his captain, “Indeed. They will find our discoveries quite fascinating.”

Jim rolls his eyes at his companion and snuggles into his sleeping bag with renewed vigor. Spock can’t help but replicate the motion, his Vulcan physiology beginning to take its toll as the temperature continues to drop, and if he rolls closer to Jim—who radiates heat _through_ his sleeping bag—once his captain drops off to sleep, who is to know?

Their start the next morning is, as Spock predicted, an early one. A painfully early one, Jim corrects his first officer as he brings his arms over his head to force out the knots formed from sleeping on a rather unforgiving forest floor. The Vulcan resists the stifling urge to roll his eyes. Such actions are unbecoming, he tells himself, but the urge remains when the captain begins to complain loudly while attempting to disassemble the tent he put up himself, seemingly without issue, the previous night. An unruly pole snaps out of place and slaps the captain across the face, prompting a long string of profanities. Spock does roll his eyes then, if only a little, and his lips quirk. Jim catches the expression and his mouth parts.

Embarrassed as he meets his captain’s surprised look, Spock reacts perhaps a little too defensively. “Is there something with which I may assist you captain?”

An open-mouthed grin forms on Jim’s face. “Nah,” he says with obvious mirth.

“Then perhaps you should return to your prior task.”

The grin stretches wider. “Sure thing, give me a minute and we’ll be ready to go.”

“Adequate,” Spock snipes, ignoring the muffled snort his captain lets loose into the structure’s covering.

It takes Jim longer than a minute to pack up their campsite, but Spock chooses to stay silent about it and busies himself with rooting through their provisions to put together something that resembles breakfast. It’s little more than a few nutrition bars and two real, non-replicated apples, but Jim sinks down next to his first officer and sighs heavily. The look he gives Spock as he bites into one of the apples is gratitude mixed with bliss. Suppressing a surge of satisfaction, Spock picks up the other apple and carefully examines it for any faults much in the same way he had with Jim’s, and then takes an even more careful bite. Sweetness explodes into his mouth and his shoulders relax marginally. He doesn’t notice Jim watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“Apples are my favorite,” Jim says casually, conversationally, but it makes Spock stiffen regardless.

Swallowing delicately, Spock replies, “Yes captain, I am aware. What is the relevance of this statement?”

Jim snorts. “You’re really funny when you get defensive, you know that?”

Opening his mouth to retort, Spock says, “Captain, I assure you there is no defensive—,”

Peals of laughter explode out through the Human’s nose as he unwraps a nutrition bar and stuffs it in his mouth, taking a thoughtful munch he directs his eyes at his companion. Merriment dances in them and Spock can feel the tips of his ears heat up. The captain is, as is his custom, _teasing_ his first officer. Huffing silently in frustration, Spock stows away his own bar and, graceful as an offended feline, comes to stand on his feet.

Still amused, Jim says, “Come on, let’s get moving,” and shoulders a backpack.

Spock echoes his captain’s movements with infinitely more grace and the other man recognizes it for what it is: the miffed Vulcan’s attempt to reiterate his, however misplaced, superiority. It does nothing for his case though, because it makes the captain smile. Warm affection leeches through the air and Spock knows the battle is lost. With another silent, delicate sigh, he follows his captain.

They walk in comfortable silence, as has become their custom for some time, before Spock finally decides to speak up. “Captain, if I may?”

Eyes narrowing at the familiar tone, Jim throws Spock a suspicious glance before nodding tersely once. “Of course Mr. Spock, please, go right on ahead.”

The mockery does little to dissuade the first officer who says, “The likelihood of this plan having a satisfactory outcome is less than twenty percent,” and then waits for his captain’s response.

“There’s no reason to bother anybody up there for no reason,” Jim tells him mildly.

“Captain, we cannot be sure there is no cause for alarm and thereby cannot say for certain that there is, as you put it, no reason.”

Putting his hands on his hips, Jim frowns down at his first officer and the frown deepens when Spock returns the gaze with a mild one of his own, one that patiently explains everything that is wrong with his captain’s plan. It’s entirely frustrating that his eyes can convey an entire _lecture_. Jim stops to think about that. It’s kind of worrisome that he can _decode_ the entire lecture just by looking at his first officer.

“What do you suggest then, Mr. Spock?” he asks.

The Vulcan considers this and then, after a brief moment of deliberation, says, “Call for backup. It is logical. We do not know what we are walking into and are, if you’ll forgive my idiom, flying blind.” He hides behind his logic and hopes his defense is enough to deter his captain, enough at least to prevent him from discerning the true nature of his objection. The true nature being that he doesn’t have adequate faith in his ability to protect them from harm, and harm there will be, he thinks, with James T. Kirk roaming about.

Working his jaw quietly, Jim mulls over his first officer’s concern, slowly narrowing his eyes until they’re little more than slits as he looks the Vulcan up and down. Beneath his captain’s scrutiny, Spock remains absolutely still. His gaze is held by something over Jim’s left shoulder, far off in the distance, and his face is smooth and completely expressionless. Somehow, though, the automatic defense seems inadequate.

Then, after a minute or two, the tension seems to bleed out of Jim. He lets out a heavy exhale and says, “How about this? I’ll put a team on stand-by to beam, but I want to get the first look.”

“You propose a compromise,” Spock says slowly, face twitching imperceptibly.

“Basically, yeah,” Jim agrees with a grin.

Eyebrows reaching his hairline, Spock inclines his head minimally but it is enough for Jim to ascertain he has acquired his first officer’s consent. “Adequate,” Spock murmurs without conviction. It’s enough.

Jim flips open his comm and barks, “Captain Kirk to _Enterprise_ , come in _Enterprise_.”

Instantly Nyota’s voice comes through. “ _Enterprise_ to Kirk, we hear you loud and clear.”

The smile that flickers across Jim’s face is brief but genuine and Spock is once again struck by how fake his regular expressions are. It makes the Vulcan’s side clench and he touches the place above his heart almost absently, already used to the pangs of unwanted emotion that his captain is unnervingly excellent at causing, although they are a side-effect of Jim’s personality and are completely unintentional. Still, it’s a reminder that Spock has allowed his defenses to fall. He is too at ease around him.

“Lieutenant Uhura, please make sure that a team is on stand-by, ready to beam down on my orders.”

“Yes captain, arranging a team for stand-by to beam.”

“Oh, and Lieutenant?”

“Yes captain?” her response is less chipper and bordering on exasperated.

“Make sure Doctor McCoy is on that team,” Jim tells her, making no effort to hide the grin that falters on the line of malicious, one which makes Spock look away from him in order to school his face back into order.

The captain’s continued insistence on torturing the doctor is, admittedly, a great source of amusement not only for the first officer, but the entirety of the crew as well. They very thought of Bones’ face when he hears that he has been ordered to use the transporter brings a sickly amount of mirth to the surface, which Spock quickly squishes back down but not without allowing himself a small quirk of his lips. It’s just his luck that the captain sees it.

Eyeing his first officer with an expression of wonderment, Jim says, “Thanks. Kirk out.”

They stare at each other carefully. Spock does not recognize the emotion that is spilling over in his companion’s overly expressive eyes, and he wonders if he even wants to. The fondness that trickles through the air towards him is more than enough. Lips thinning, Spock raises his shields with frightening speed and from the way Jim flinches, he too feels the connection between them sever.

Avoiding eye contact, Jim says, “Let’s get moving.”

There’s a hint of ice in his voice and the words pass through Spock’s ears like betrayal and he holds in the shudder, swallowing the guilt that thickens in his throat and curses, not for the first time, his humanity. Not his mother, never her, but the humanity she gave him, absolutely. Lowering his eyes to the forest floor, Spock follows his captain. Even through the density of his mental shields he can feel the hurt coming off him and again he has to swallow, pretending that he is not aware of the temporary damage he has caused. It will have to be explained later, he knows, but not yet. The wounds are still too fresh, illogically so.

They pass into a thick passage in the undergrowth and the scanner in Spock’s hand goes haywire, screaming all kinds of frequencies at him. Pausing to examine it, he doesn’t realize his captain continues. Glancing up, Spock says, “Captain, there is some sort of large energy field. Perhaps we should—,”

Jim has continued on without his first officer, blinded by the frustration of being shut out, and has vanished.

“Captain,” Spock’s distress at having lost sight of his companion filters out in his voice, which visibly bears the strain. Picking up his pace and swinging his head from side to side, Spock nearly runs into Jim’s frozen body.

Eyebrows drawing together minutely, Spock says, “Captain,” again, exasperated. Then he looks up and takes in what has caused the Human so much distress. A giant, sprawling structure lies before them, clearly alien and clearly ancient, and as Spock’s gaze sweeps over the layout and design he realizes it is remarkably advanced. There’s something else though, buzzing at the fringe of his mind, but he pushes it away to focus on his captain.

Sufficiently awed by the sight before them, Jim licks his lips and lets out a quiet whoosh of air that attracts his first officer’s attention. The captain can’t seem to tear his eyes from the building before them and Spock’s heightened senses pick up on his companion’s heart-rate, which has elevated and his pupils have dilated. Spock’s brow creases and he returns his gaze to the alien structure. He can only imagine the signals firing in his captain’s brain, the ones connected to his ability to sense things others would simply pass by. Narrowing his eyes at the structure, Spock can only wonder at what lies within.

He can only formulate suspicions until something brushes past his mind. With a jolt, Spock’s eyes widen a fraction. He knows, without a doubt, that what has frozen Jim to his position and now probed at the Vulcan himself—curiously, and without malice—is the very same consciousness he sensed the previous day atop the rock formation and not only that, but he now knows the origin. Next to him, Jim takes in a shaky breath.

“Spock…”

“Yes captain, I sensed it too. It is the presence from yesterday.”

Swallowing thickly, Jim asks, “It’s in there, isn’t it?”

“Logic would say so captain.” Turning his head a little to better see the Human, Spock asks a question he already knows the answer to, but he must be certain. “Captain, should we comm for assistance?”

Jim, snapping back to himself as Spock thought he would, frowns and furrows his brow before shaking his head and grinning at his first officer with his usual bravado. “Nah, let ‘em stew a bit more. Let’s go check it out first.”

Face impassive, Spock inclines his head. “Of course, captain.”

If possible, Jim’s grin would have spread farther. Together they descend, picking their way down into the valley in vain attempts to remain upright and not cause serious evidence of their passing, or, at least that is Spock’s attempt. Jim, it seems, simply wants to reach the building. He makes a series of leaps that make the Vulcan’s chest stutter in his side and makes them all, clambering down with an agility his companion did not know he had. Predictably, Jim reaches the bottom first. Using a hand to shade his view, he cajoles Spock and teases him until he comes to stand with his captain a minute or two later. Disapproval radiates through Spock, which Jim must feel because he just grins and shrugs sheepishly. If anything, the disapproval deepens. Spock refuses to admit that affection taints the severity of the emotion he attempts to project toward his companion.

They’re still a good hundred yards from the structure and, if possible, it just seems larger. Jim stops every now and again to huff and puff about physical exercise, take a swig from his water bottle, and generally goggle at the sheer presence of the building, all of which Spock allows patiently, his body better suited to the high temperatures of the planet’s afternoon. Where Jim is pouring sweat, Spock is pleasantly warm. It drives the Human a little insane. Just a little.

“What the hell man,” Jim complains as he uncaps his water bottle, “I’m sweating bullets over here. _Bullets_. You haven’t even broken a sweat.”

Inhaling slowly and gathering himself, Spock remarks, “As you are well aware, my Vulcan physiology is biologically suited to warmer climates, while your Human physiology is much better—,”

“Suited to moderate climates, blah, blah, blah,” the captain waves his hand dismissively. “Still, though. It’s completely unfair.”

Unable to help raising his eyebrow, Spock gives his companion a pointed look. It says, _what in this universe is fair?_ Judging by the captain’s frown, he’s translated the message perfectly, as per usual, really, Spock is painfully curious as to how Jim is always perfectly capable of dissecting each and every one of his blank faces into actual, genuine one expressions. It is a curious phenomenon, if a bit frustrating. Even Nyota could not accurately predict his thoughts.

Not even Nyota… a small, passing pang ripples through Spock’s side as he is once again reminded that they have chosen to part ways. The crew doesn’t know yet, although he thinks the captain may have guessed. Glancing to his right, he finds said man gazing at him intently with narrowed eyes, and quickly turns his thoughts from his terminated relationship, illogically afraid that Jim can hear his thoughts.

“Shall we continue, Captain?” he presses delicately, trying to not overdo it.

Shaken from his lapse, Jim glances at his first officer with an expression Spock doesn’t recognize and then another grin, this one little more than a diversion, spreads across his face and he shrugs. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

It feels like a loaded statement, but Spock can’t quite figure out why. One eyebrow raising, he shoots his captain a suspicious glance and shoulders his backpack once more, more than content to continue on if only to distract himself. However frustrating it is, his Human emotions are getting the better of him. In an alien, possibly hostile environment, such weakness is unacceptable, besides, the captain is emotional enough for the both of them.

As if he really can hear his companion’s thoughts, Jim lets out a quiet laugh.

It’s still a few meters to the building but for Spock, who cannot tear his eyes away from his scanner, the journey seems like a short one. The device, which records the spikes from the building in real time and sends them instantly to the _Enterprise_ , cannot seem to decide on a classification or level for the spikes it continuously experiences. With his first officer sufficiently distracted, Jim allows himself to seethe. It isn’t his fault that his companion’s relationship went south, and it isn’t beyond reason he’d want to console him about it either. The frustration, he eventually has to admit, isn’t directed at Spock who, despite being a green-blooded bastard sometimes, is not entirely human and his not entirely human actions therefore are not entirely his fault. The frustration is directed more at himself, at his inability to help.

Before either of the men realize it, the simply enormous double doors of the building’s (assumed) front entrance are before them imposing and seemingly impenetrable. Jim, having lead them there successfully, steps aside for his first officer and sometimes acting chief of science to have a look at the blockade, feeling himself trace every nearly invisible wrinkle and contortion of his Vulcan companion’s normally impassive face. Science and exploration have always been Spock’s passion. He is, although he dislikes the comparison, like a kid in a candy shop stocked with only the most (interesting) delicious treats available.

“There appears to be some sort of mechanism here,” Spock murmurs more to himself than to his captain, “perhaps if I…”

“Spock!”

Before Jim can stop him, Spock’s arm is inside a maintenance panel. It takes a few moments, but after the Human has stepped instinctively closer to his companion and a few static charges and clicks sound from inside, the doors pop as if unlocking. Withdrawing his hand, Spock stands and gives an experimental push on one of the doors. It groans expansively as it nudges inward slowly but surely.

Carefully, slowly, and frozen as the insides of the building are revealed to him, Jim reaches up to tap his comm while never tearing his eyes away from the sight before him. “Kirk to _Enterprise_ ,” he all but whispers.

“This is _Enterprise_ ,” returns Nyota’s calm voice, “what do you need?”

The words resonate momentarily with Spock who finds himself thrust back to the death of his planet without warning, and he turns away from Jim to edge further into the room, hoping to avoid more of Nyota, his love-no-more. Jim continues to talk with her, arranging a party to beam down.

“Bring Bones and some of those science department geeks, maybe a botanist and somebody with history in their background?” Jim mutters, thinking, and then adds, “They’re gonna wet themselves when they see this.”

Nyota snorts, attempting to hide her amusement by covering it with irritation. “Classy, captain. I’ll alert Doctor McCoy immediately. Stand by.” Then she’s gone.

Jim turns to look at Spock, who is very obviously not looking at his captain but isn’t really looking at anything else either. Were he more human, the first officer would be scuffing one of his shoes and Jim can see the discomfort that his companion is giving off very nearly in waves, and any doubt that might have still existed vanishes. Pressing his lips together, Jim carefully approaches his first officer. The lowered hands and slow approach indicate that he intends to treat Spock like a wounded, if not cornered, animal, and it brings an uncharacteristic sneer to the Vulcan’s lips. Eyes narrowing, Jim stops. His eyebrows climb to his hairline just as slowly and Spock’s ears flush as he turns his head away from his captain, caught between embarrassment and shame.

Jim shifts from foot to foot, trying to think of something to say. What he settles on is less than satisfactory, but Spock couldn’t be more grateful.

“There’ll be others,” the captain says.

The smirk that spreads Spock’s lips is a little sick and it doesn’t miss it. “Fish in the sea,” he murmurs, deadly quiet, and then, suddenly, Jim sees the root of the problem.

“Spock,” he nearly snarls, “there’s nothing wrong with you. It didn’t work out, big deal. There _will_ ,” he stresses, “others.”

The Vulcan doesn’t say anything else but Jim can tell he’s listening.

“There will be,” Jim says again, weaker but just as insistent, and he frowns down at his own scanner for a moment before shrugging helplessly.

The same spike of frustration hits Spock and he realizes the reason for his captain’s behavior and outbursts with no small amount of embarrassment and even shame, because it is in Jim’s very nature to try and help everyone, and it is also in his nature to blame himself if he is unable to. Shifting uneasily, Spock opens his mouth to say something, anything, and then stops to tilt his head.

A strange scent reaches them and Jim steps further into the chamber, feet hardly making a sound which doesn’t escape the Vulcan’s notice. It seems rather curious, so he kneels to examine the floor. The reason for the quietness of their footsteps becomes blisteringly apparent after a moment and Spock reaches down to press his fingers to the spongy roots that span the expanse of the room, surprised at how much they give under his probing. Jim, having not noticed his companion is no longer directly behind him, continues on undeterred. He stops for a moment and raises his nose. Taking in a deep breath, the strange mix of scents begins to sort itself out, and he’s able to pick out the moss and roots that are directly beneath him. After another sharp intake, he realizes that he _knows_ the other scent.

Brow furrowing, Jim frowns. The scent is familiar to him, distantly though, as if the memory is from a dream he can’t quite recall. Opening his lips to ask his first officer, Jim turns to find him crouched and halfway through examining a root, face upturned and eyes relentless in their fixed gaze. Underneath the intensity of it, Jim shifts. Spock rises to his feet and glides over the roots, even more soundlessly than his captain, to come and stand with him.

“Captain?” his voice is soft, vaguely reminiscent of rain.

“Spock,” Jim breathes, frustrated that it comes out in a rush he didn’t intend, “that… can you smell that?”

Nostrils flaring, the Vulcan tilts his head back minutely and takes one of the most delicate sniffs Jim has ever seen. Spock’s eyes slide closed as he catalogues the scents. Beneath their lids, his eyes flicker back and forth before snapping open and flicking down to stare into Jim’s eyes which burn.

“Yes,” Spock frowns, “I believe I do.”

“It smells like—,”

“Our familiarity stems from our connection to the consciousness, I believe that we are experiencing a sensory memory.” Spock’s eyes narrow because now he can taste the familiar yet so foreign scent, trying to put his memory into words as it hovers on the back of his tongue.

Shifting again, never quite content with staying still for too long, Jim says, “Maybe we should continue,” as his eyes flicker back to the passage that will bring them closer to the soft roar that has built up in their minds.

They’re very close to the consciousness now. Spock can only nod wordlessly, allowing his captain to take the lead as they wind their way further into the structure, the noise growing louder as they approach their goal. The walls around them, previously a dull kind of stone become more ornate and the richness with which they are surrounded gives way to some likely conclusions. Clearly the consciousness and something of great importance to the people are connected. The walls begin to become specked with crystals of some sort, which slowly become more tightly clustered until the walls are made of crystal and the stone is completely absent. The presence begins to converge upon them. It rattles their minds and grows, if possible, even louder with every step they take down the hallway which until suddenly vanishing.

The doors before them are tall, nearly eight feet in height, and made entirely of a highly reflective if dark crystal, much in the way that the walls around them are, and the voice from inside their heads seems to have vacated in preference of waiting for them beyond the crystal barrier.

Licking his lips, Spock comes to stand much closer to his captain than he originally intends and whispers, “Perhaps now would be a reasonable time to summon the rest of the team?”

Trembling from head to toe, Jim nods shakily and taps his comm. “Kirk to _Enterprise_ , stand-by to beam down the rest of the team.” To his credit, his voice doesn’t wobble once.

“Acknowledged.”

Nyota’s smooth, clipped voice is then replaced by Scotty’s rampant, excited language.

“Hello captain, seems you’ve been busy down there roughing it in the hills and whatnot. Did’ya enjoy your camping trip?” the engineering chief is bright as always and continues on his questioning, presumably until everyone is on the transporters.

Then, “Alright captain, they’re all yours when you want them. Just say the word.”

Jim can’t help the wild grin on his lips. “Thanks Scotty, beam ‘em down.”

With almost childish glee, Scott responds, “Aye captain. Beaming down!”

Despite the odd energy fluctuations and other remarkable oddities of the building, beaming directly inside it proves to be no issue as Bones and a few newer members of the crew appear before them a few moments later, although judging by his expression, Bones is displeased with the turn of events. Before the captain can even protest, a hypo is buried in his neck.

“Bones, what the hell? Chill out!” Jim jumps away from the surprisingly vindictive man.

“Jim,” the doctor nearly sneers, “please. Be reasonable, who knows what you’ve picked up from this planet? With your allergies…”

Spock, an eyebrow raising, glances at the captain. While he was aware of the captain’s medical irregularities, he wasn’t aware that the list of known allergens was so extensive that the doctor would find it necessary to immediately examine him. Jim, to his credit, simply rolls his eyes and sighs with irritation.

“Stop, just stop, I feel fine.”

Bones raises another hypo and Jim takes a step behind Spock who, once facing down the mottling face of the doctor and his impressive collection of possibly deadly hypos, feels a certain amount of empathy for his captain’s troubles and agrees with him.

“Indeed, doctor. The captain has shown an astounding resilience to the planet’s potential allergens. He does not appear in need of assistance.” As soon as it’s out, Spock wonders if the doctor will attempt to maul him. His luck seems to hold, however, and the doctor, after surveying them both with narrowed eyes, nods tersely and returns his hypo to his bag. Jim sighs almost inaudibly, but his first officer hears it and almost smiles. The tension between them seems to have abated momentarily.

“Alright,” Bones grumps, “let’s go then. Let’s see this thing you’re all worked up about and hope it doesn’t kill us.”

Jim’s smile is almost a little too bright. “Sure thing sugar, let’s bounce.”

While Spock is disturbingly familiar with his captain’s idioms after their time together, he holds firm in his feigned innocence of such understanding and gives his captain his most well-constructed blank look, which only serves to make Jim laugh pleasantly and grab his elbow.

“C’mon Mr. Spock,” he almost sings, “let’s find out what this thing is.”

“Wait,” Bones demands from behind them, “you’re not even sure what it is?”

They ignore him and push the door open.

Every instinct in the Vulcan’s body suddenly comes alive and screams at him that the orb is dangerous and while outwardly he maintains a completely stoic and still image, inwardly he can’t tear his eyes from his captain as the protective urges begin to tear their way to the surface. The effort to appear calm takes its toll and Spock’s hands shake behind his back. While most of the present crew is further in the room taking in the magnificent architecture and impressive technology with awe and growing inspiration, the doctor has chosen to hang back and wave his tricorder around, testing the air for contaminants. As he grunts and goes to pocket it, he is the only one to notice the Vulcan’s tension. Bones feels his own apprehension spike when he catches sight of Spock’s trembling and his gaze flicks up to the Vulcan’s face where, just as he suspected, his lips are as white as his knuckles.

Edging closer to him, Bones asks quietly, “You look like someone’s stealing your prize stallion right in front of you.”

Flicking his eyes briefly to the doctor before fixing them pointedly on Jim once more, Spock says, “I do not understand the relevance of your usage of this particular metaphor, doctor McCoy.”

Nostril’s flaring in outrage, Bones tries again. “Dammit man, you know exactly what I mean. What’s rattling around in your brain that’s making you shake like a damn leaf?” he demands.

Spock makes a small, “Ah,” sound that sounds piteously helpless and then extrapolates, “there is… a presence here. I believe it is emanating from the spherical object in the center of the room. It does not… I cannot explain it logically.”

“Illogically then,” Bones says, making impatient gestures with his whole arm.

Spock doesn’t tear his eyes away from Jim who is approaching the orb with an expression of reverence. The Vulcan is unsurprised to see it is affecting his captain. “Illogically, the object feels as though it has a mind of its own and it is not of a strictly savory nature.”

Bones’ eyes narrow into slits as he stares at the Vulcan, clearly attempting to determine whether or not he thinks the alien is joking with him or not, and when Spock’s tension doesn’t lessen in the slightest the doctor is forced to assume that he is, somehow, being honest. Vulcans, after all, don’t lie. It’s kind of their catchphrase.

“So,” the doctor begins his summary casually, “basically what you’re telling me is that this alien orb thing,” he gestures to the object in question, “is alive?”

Spock nods.

The doctor takes a moment to digest that before continuing. “And, not only is it alive, but it’s unfriendly?”

“Unfriendly is not quite the word I would use doctor,” Spock says mildly.

“Then this living orb thing has ambiguous morals?”

It is an interesting way to put it and not quite as incorrect so Spock nods again, still watching Jim. The captain has ascended the last step and is now directly before the podium containing the orb which has begun to glow in response to his proximity, something, Spock acknowledges, is hardly ever a good thing, and Jim’s fingers have outstretched as if to touch it. Trembling in the open air, they have stopped just short of actually touching it, thankfully.

“Captain,” Spock calls out to him, “I would advise against any kind of physical contact. This technology is unlike anything we have ever seen, and it would be unwise to—,”

With a disheartening roll of his eyes, Jim interrupts his first officer. “Relax Spock, I know all that, I’m not gonna run around touching every random thing I see.” Glancing back to the orb, Jim adds, “But you can feel that right?”

An eyebrow climbing to his hairline, Spock realizes he can feel what the captain is assumingly referring to. Bones’ eyes have, if possible, narrowed some more and his head has cocked as if to listen. There is nothing to hear though. Rather, there is a deep physical hum surrounding them, vibrating in the tiles on the floor and the stones stacked in the walls, and while it gives off no intentions or emotions, Spock feels as though he might drown in the power of it. A lump forms in his throat. Instead of answering his captain, whose unwieldy blue eyes burn into his own, Spock inclines his head a fraction of an inch—just enough for Jim to see it.

“Indeed captain, I can.”

Bones asks, “Feel what?” he glances around the room as if the impressions can be physically seen. “What is it?” he demands, “What aren’t you telling me dammit?”

The smaller, but fierce man rounds on the Vulcan who raises a delicate eyebrow. He does not wish to upset the man further, but isn’t sure how to defuse the situation either, so he tries for honesty. “The presence… it has a…” he pauses, searching for the word, “weight to it. A sound if you will. However, since we cannot actually hear the sound as it is within our own minds, it is more of a sensation, hence the captain’s imprecise use of the term feel.”

Bones, who nods suspiciously but seems to understand, lessens his glare.

A high pitched squeal echoes through the building suddenly and Jim, whose hand is frozen over the sphere, can only stare helplessly at his first officer whose own eyes are uncharacteristically wide with terror and frustration at his captain’s inability to follow simple instructions. Lips moving soundlessly, Jim appears to be forming coherent sentences and without thinking, Spock bolts to him. Bones is shouting from behind him, but the first officer ignores him. Reaching Jim in a matter of seconds, he only has time to grab Jim’s hand and is in the process of tearing it away from the sphere when a strange compulsion strikes him. It causes his hand to freeze, still clutching Jim’s. Just as the same sensation that accompanies a beam washes over him, Spock’s eyes flick up to his captain’s and he shares a moment of joined blind fear and confusion. Then their surroundings vanish into white blankness. They can, for a moment after, still hear Bones’ voice ringing in their ears.

_“God dammit Jim!”_

As they rematerialize the first thing that either of them notice is that their hands are still clutching each other. Quickly releasing each other, they both swing their heads around to examine their new surroundings which are, very obviously, not where they were moments ago. They appear to, according to their barely functional scanners, not even be on the same planet. Almost desperately Jim taps his comm.

“ _Enterprise_ come in, this is James T. Kirk,” the Human’s eyes flick over to the Vulcan for a moment and Spock is struck by just how remarkably blue they are and then their searing openness flicks away to the comm that is refusing to cooperate. “I repeat, _Enterprise_ , come in.”

“Perhaps they are experiencing a malfunction of some sort, or perhaps,” and Spock has to force the words out from a jaw trembling from the effort to not clench together, “we are out of range and they cannot, therefore, receive our signal.”

Swallowing thickly and gently shutting his comm, Jim turns to his first officer and asks, “Out of range?”

Not liking where the repetition is sure to lead, Spock inclines his head. “That is what I said captain.”

“Spock,” there’s a desperate edge to the captain’s voice now, “this is the _Enterprise_ , she can hear all the way to Klingon space if she wants to. How could we possibly be out of range?”

Lips thinning, Spock claps his hands behind his back and answers, “I do not know captain.”

Wide-eyed in a fearful mixture of terror and exhilaration, Jim turns to his first officer and asks, “Where the hell are we Spock?”

The Vulcan, for once, has no real answer and so he repeats himself quietly. “I do not know.”


End file.
